The Adler Case
by penguinwithapen
Summary: Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes; It has been a while since I have contacted you, but I am certain that you remember me. I am writing to you as I have a case for you. A most peculiar one. If you would like to take on the case, Mr. Holmes, please meet me at 8 o'clock in front of the coffeeshop down your street; I happen to be in town. Respectfully Yours, Irene Adler Norton.
1. Chapter 1 The Violet Envelope

**This is my first Sherlock Holmes fanfiction (the books). (I haven't watched the movies yet, but I'm OBSESSED with the books) Just letting you know from the start... Sherlock X Watson is a no no in my writing. I repeat, I DO NOT SHIP THESE CHARACTERS. Okay. Now that THAT'S done, please enjoy, comment, critique... you guys know what to do~ :) You guys are awesome like that.**

Throughout my years of documenting Sherlock Holmes's various expeditions, I have rarely known him to be thwarted. To my knowledge, he has only failed four times: and even then, thwarted more so by chance and sure-footed enemies than his lack of wit.  
The Scandal in Bohemia is an exception. It has always been the exception.  
Even in his failures, however, Holmes always managed to find the truth; not just bits and pieces of what happened, but the entire, glorious scope of the case. Never had I known him to fail to find the truth, the complete truth, the truth pressed to such a point of accuracy that everything unraveled before his keen eyes.  
Never had a case made one of Sherlock Holmes's wounds -tightened into a thin scar by his sheer willpower -reopen even a sliver.  
But then again, the woman has always been the exception.

"My dear Watson," Sherlock Holmes greeted me as I stepped into his office and quarters at Baker Street, my frigid body bathed with warmth as I did, "It is good that you are here. I have been practically bombarded with letters since the last fortnight, and it is always good to have you to consult, doctor. Especially since you have had much time on your hands since the last week."  
I should have been used to it, but I was amazed once more by his skills of deduction. "Yes, I haven't had many patients lately: only a girl with smallpox. But how in the world did you know?" He motioned for me to sit down, a smile lighting on his face as he lifted his pipe.  
"You do not have the mark of either a stethoscope along your ears, or the depression from the blunt end of a needle on your thumb and forefinger. Instead, you have the circular indentation of reading glasses on the bridge of your nose, and a paper-cut on your right ring-finger. And, if I may be so rude, I would say that no self-respecting doctor would leave his hair so tousled if he were meeting his patients."  
I immediately pressed my hair down to my head. "You never cease to amaze me, Holmes."  
"It is but observation," he said dismissively, reaching for another letter in his pile and skimming through it. "Hmm... from the Duke... stolen artifacts..." He tossed the letter aside. "Uninteresting in the slightest. A mere glance at previous cases would solve this one. Let Lestrade take care of this, I suppose." He reached for another letter, but only gave this one the shortest glance before throwing it aside. "Does not interest me."  
I wondered how long it would take before Holmes reached a case that intrigued him. Very long, I suspected. Then my eyes fell on a lilac envelope signed with a vaguely familiar hand. "Holmes. Try that one." He looked up from a gray letter to the envelope to which I was pointing, and grabbed it immediately, tearing it open. "This one is interesting."  
"You have not looked at it yet!" I cried out, but Holmes just looked up at me with a smile.  
"I know from looking at the envelope." He then delved into the letter, occasionally stopping to touch a word with his finger with a frown.  
I knew what was coming. Watson, look at this letter and tell me what you can determine about our client. Watson, what do you think of this letter? Then I would answer something insignificant to his brilliance, and he would rebound against me with his unfailing deductions.  
This time around, however, it seemed to be different. Holmes's frown grew deeper and deeper, before his eyes reached the bottom of the paper, at which time he dropped the letter, grabbed a syringe, and injected the thing into his arm.  
I was alarmed. "Holmes? What are you doing? What is that?"  
"Cocaine. You should be used to this by now, Watson." His voice was quieter than usual as he picked up the letter once more. "Mental exaltation."  
"But you have a letter! You don't use the drugs when you are reading a letter, not usually..." Holmes passes the letter to me.  
"Watson, read the letter." Sherlock Holmes put a hand to his forehead. I frowned, but took up the letter, squinting at the neat, feminine hand and elaborate letterhead.  
"Well, she is a young lady, fairly well to do..."  
"Read the letter, Watson." My frown grows deeper at his wavering tone, and I read the letter.  
_Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes;_  
_It has been a while since I have contacted you, but I am certain that you remember me. I am writing to you as I have a case for you. A most peculiar one._  
_I do not care to write all of the details on this piece of letter-paper; you, of all people, Mr. Holmes, would understand how that would be ridiculous. I happen to be in town, and so -if you are willing to take up this case -I would like for you to meet me, with any associate you feel necessary, at the coffeeshop down Baker Street at exactly eight o'clock tomorrow morning. I know you usually meet your clients in your office, Mr. Holmes, but it is not exactly a place that I would be comfortable giving my statement in, and that may cause some discrepancies, so I suspect that you will have no complaints in obliging to my requests._  
_I will wait until noon for your arrival, then consult another. However, I would be honored if you would take up my request. I have the money to pay you, Mr. Holmes._  
I looked up at Holmes, who had remained painfully silent throughout my perusal of the letter. "So you've met this client before? What's wrong with..." My eyes travel down to the salutations, drawn by the graceful signature on the bottom of the page.

_Respectfully Yours,_

_Irene Adler Norton._

Holmes finally looked up, a look of cautious uncertainty in his eyes. "Well. What do you think of it, Watson?"  
"I think... I think Irene Adler is..."  
"Back," Holmes interjects, twirling the syringe between his long, thin fingers. "The woman is back. And she wants to put me on a case."  
"W-well," I stuttered, not sure what to say as I stare at Holmes's troubled expression. "Are you... going to..."  
"Take the case? Of course, Watson! Any case that Mrs. Norton offers is bound to be an intriguing one, is it not?" He stood, picking up his pipe and inhaling deeply. "And, if it is not too much trouble, Doctor, I would ask you to document this case, also."  
"No trouble at all." I quickly took out my pad from the inner breast pocket of my coat. Holmes waved his hand.  
"No need to have the thing out yet, Watson. There is no evidence to examine. But one more thing."  
"Yes, Holmes?"  
His eyes were still disturbed as they looked out through the smoke of his pipe at the view in his small window. I could tell from his set jaw that he was determined, but all vestiges of his normal confidence were gone. "Watson. Whatever this case turns out to be about... Call it The Adler Case."


	2. Chapter 2 Details of Mild Intrigue

**I kept my promise! :3 (In my time zone, anyways) Thank you everyone for your comment and critique~ Please continue with your awesomeness and enjoy~**

* * *

Holmes insisted that I take my leave that night, and I did so, reluctantly. I attempted to get some rest, as he suggested, but -as it was with most of his cases -the new case would not allow my eyes to close. Especially now that the woman was involved, this study had a special intrigue, despite the fact that the points of whatever crime had been committed was not available to me at the moment.

Stepping carefully out of bed, I lit a long candle and went down to the study, where I had left my writing pad on the oaken work-desk. Taking up my pen firmly in my right hand, I sat down in my chair, my free hand loosely clenched around the cushioned armrest. For a moment, I sat there, staring at the blank pad of paper before me, scantily illuminated in the flickering light of my candle. Then, uncapping my pen, I carefully inked out 'The Adler Case' on the top of the sheet, in the neatest handwriting I could muster.

Somehow, the fulfillment of that task alone was enough for me to be able to force myself back into bed and fall into a restless sleep.

It was a quarter after seven when I finally bustled in through Holmes's door. Slipping on his jacket, he looked up and gave a slight nod. "You overslept?"

I took in a gulp of breath, nodding back feverishly. "Yes. But I'm here."

"Good." I frowned as I looked up and down at his attire. A plain, coffee-colored jacket, his hat, and usual shoes were all that hid his lanky figure.

"Holmes, wouldn't it be better to go in disguise?"

He scoffed slightly, beckoning me towards the door. "That's ridiculous, Watson. I don't need to get in disguise to see a client."

"But this is Irene Adler," I protested. "Surely, she will have a trick or two up her sleeve, as well. You will need time to observe things unobserved..."

"She will expect me to be in disguise," Holmes cut in, "And therefore I must not go in disguise. And if Mrs. Norton is as quick-witted as I believe her to be, then she will also come without one." He beckoned again, and walked out the door.

I followed him without any further questions. I had long realized that, with Sherlock Holmes, there was not much room for hesitation.

The cafe was small and crowded with people. Thankfully, the throng was sparse enough for Holmes and I to weave through. Our going was slow, as my companion seemed to be carefully scrutinizing each and every person in the erection. "Have you found her yet, Holmes?" I asked after a few minutes of pushing past rather irritated customers.

He nodded, slowly. "She noticed us before we did. Her lack of disguise seems to have disguised her in itself..." Holmes began to walk again, at a faster pace now; I trailed after him, trying to mimic the way he slipped through the crowd so easily and miserably failing. By the time I had stumbled out of the maze of arms and legs, gasping for breath, Holmes had already sat down before his client at a long, wooden table tucked away in a windowless corner. I fell into the seat beside him, taking time to catch my breath before seriously observing Mrs. Norton.

As Sherlock Holmes had expected, she was undisguised; even her long hair was swept away into a bun, so that her striking features and defined jaw was only hidden by loose ringlets of her dark mane. She was clad in a simple violet gown. She had no trace of powder on her face -a few wrinkles were visible in her face as she smiled, and dark circles sagged under her eyes -but she still held the delicate beauty of her youth, despite being a tad more robust. She nodded slightly to acknowledge us as we slid into the seats opposite her.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes? And Mr. Watson, I presume?"

My companion nodded, leaning back in the chair opposite and reaching instinctively for his pipe. His fingers finding air -I had absolutely refused to let him bring that odious thing into a public setting -he cleared his throat. "Mrs. Norton."

The woman waved her hand dismissively. "I'll never get used to hearing that name. Just call me by the name you know me by, and things shall be quite fine between us, despite our previous disputes."

"Ms. Adler?"

"Irene." Her eyes glittered with a cautious amusement. "As far as I know, my first name hasn't changed." She turned to me and gestured towards a steaming mug of thin tea previously unnoticed to me. I thanked her hastily and took a quick gulp, not taking my eyes off of her.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, by any chance do you have deductions to make before we start this little session? I heard that... this is customary." She arched an eyebrow, lifting up her own cup.

"It is not necessary, and rather foolish at the moment, Mrs. Irene." I turned towards him in surprise, trying to speak, but he silenced me with an irritated wave of the hand. "Despite the fact that it is indeed customary, whatever deductions I make towards you will most likely be disregarded due to my familiarity to you. The only new deductions I can make from you at the moment will invariably be linked to the case, in which I would like to ascertain the facts from your own lips."

"But what can you tell? I would like to know." Putting her cup down, she leaned forward, eyes flashing with excitement. The almost-casual lilt of her eyelids, the very curve of her lips, posed a challenge that I knew Holmes would not be able to resist.

"You have had a restless sleep," Holmes said almost too casually, narrowing his eyes, "and -forgive me for this, ma'am, you are currently in your nightclothes." His satisfied smirk was cut short by our client's quiet clucking of the tongue.

"Excellent deductions. However, I regret to inform you that you are wrong on both particulars," she said quietly, leaning back once more and giving us an amused -albeit weary -smile. "I am starting to reconsider opening this case to you."

Holmes started, almost knocking over his mug. "But how then would you explain the way your hair is tousled drastically to the side, despite the fact that you have obviously attempted to fix it this morning by tying it up? And the fact that the unnatural folds of your dress and slight wear on the lower waist and back indicates that you have slept on it at one time or the other?"

"I have very recently been to Edinburgh, in Scotland... it was probably the wind that fixed my hair in this position," Irene reached up and touched the hair twisted to the top of her head, which I then realized was, indeed, -despite having been cleverly twisted behind her head -unconventionally crooked. "Of course I tried to fix it; it is impolite to show up to a meeting with a wild mane of hair, is it not? But unlike what you may have thought, I had very little time to work on it."

"Then what about your... gown?"

"This, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," our client said slowly, articulating each word, "is my evening gown."

Holmes scowled. "Fine lie. Then how do you explain-"

"I would let you look at the tag of this dress, had we the time to do so. I apologize for getting this conversation off track." The woman gave a slight sigh as she gazed into the dark, half-drunk surface of her drink. "Believe it or not, Mr. Holmes, the case I have is actually slightly of more importance than your obviously wounded pride."

For a moment, I was afraid that Holmes would grow rash; his eyes were filled with a steely anger I had not seen in many years. However, his normal look of cool contemplation returned. "Continue, then."

Irene Adler Norton stared at him, her eyes uneasy. "It... involves a telegram. Sent to my husband. It threatened his life and estates..."

Holmes gave a small sound of disbelief. "Mrs. Irene Norton. Give me the telegram and I will solve this case in a heartbeat. I have seen too many cases like-"

"Stop acting so idiotic!" Our client stood up, slamming her palms violently down on the table. Her mug teetered and fell to the ground, shattering, but her eyes -flashing with anger -did not seem to perceive it. The buzz of the cafe hesitated for a moment, then continued in a polite murmur. "For a renowned consulting detective, you can be surprisingly nearsighted, Mr. Holmes! Sometimes, things are a bit more complicated than what you can immediately perceive."

"Then do explain," Holmes suggested, completely unfazed.

Irene opened her mouth, then closed it, drawing it into a thin line. "I've changed my mind. I was foolish to consult you for a case you obviously find below your attention, Mr. Holmes." She stepped out and headed for the door, gathering up her dress slightly in one hand.  
Holmes stood up, seeming a bit more disturbed than before. "Mrs. Irene-"

She turned back, her eyes cold and contemplating. "Mr. Holmes. If you have found out so much about me during our little flirt in Bohemia as you claim, you should be able to find me in London, should you not? Seek me out if you want the case. Really, Mr. Holmes, how much do you know about me?"

With these words, she swept out the door. Fully expecting Holmes to pursue her, I started out, but he grabbed me on the arm. "There is no use. That woman's bent to her will," he said quietly, an edge of spite creeping to his voice. "It also seems that she has dropped a piece of evidence we would be fools not to examine."

Bending down, he lifted up what seemed to be a telegram. The telegram, probably. I watched as his sharp eyes examined it. Then, he dropped the thing with a grim, but careless air. "This is of absolutely no use to me."

"But-"

"Fabricated." He turned to me with a grim air. "Come, Watson. Off to my office and pipe, if you are not loathe to join me."

"But how do you know that it is useless?" I asked incredulously, reluctant to leave the slip behind. "Perhaps you could examine it under a microscope, or..."

"Useless, my dear Watson. Absolutely useless." With an impatient air, he began to walk. The crowd was more sparse than before. "I have already gleaned enough information from it to discover that Mr. Norton isn't in immediate danger."

I looked up, struggling to catch up to him. "But... how, then, Holmes? How..."

"Perhaps it is true that I have yet failed to understand that woman," he said firmly, stepping out of the door, "but I do know one rather fascinating detail about her life." He turned to me, his eyes glinting with a strange light. "Our runaway client is soon to be murdered."


End file.
